The Daylight soldier in the front passenger seat glanced into the back, making sure we were settled before giving the driver a nod. “We’re all set. Let’s go.”
The house Thomas had chosen was set far down its own private drive on an isolated stretch of desert road that required several minutes of travel before we reached the main road.
I propped my chin on my fist, staring outside at the landscape. The mountains and hills got further and further away as signs of human civilization encroached. Soon, the city was in front of us, the convoy slowing as we hit traffic.
“Where are we going?” I asked when it became clear we weren’t heading for the strip.
Somehow, we’d found our way to a different section of the city. One where generic office buildings sat right across from the more ubiquitous bright lights and neon signs you’d expect of a Vegas experience. The ding of casinos was loud even from this far away.
I squinted. Was that a zip line?
Nathan cracked open one eye. “Take a guess.”
I was quiet as I took in the thriving night life across from us. Except for a visit while on leave from the military, I didn’t have much experience with Vegas.
“There’s a lot more to this city than what’s on the strip,” Nathan informed me.
Deborah lowered her phone, making it clear she was paying attention.
Nathan nodded toward the bright lights. “That’s old Vegas. The edge of it anyway.”
“I thought we were heading to the Playground,” I said with a glance at the sign that said Fremont Street.
Nathan gave me a chiding glance. “You have to know by now that things are never so cut and dry. The Playground is massive. Nearly as big as the city of Vegas itself. There’s also more than one entrance. This one happens to be the closest to our destination.”
I frowned at the view outside the SUV, unsettled.
Magic was everywhere. In the buildings across from me. In the casinos on the other side of the street. Even the neon lights flickered with it.
It was the oldest kind of magic there was. A manifestation of human desire and greed that had taken on a life of its own. It was a power that didn’t spring from the will of a singular entity but rather something that formed as a result of a collective desire. Taking shape over the course of years and decades. Sometimes centuries.
Sites where a great trauma took place were perhaps the most common examples of this. The stains of the event lingering long after those responsible for the horrors were gone.
Though holy temples and churches were also lumped under this category. Worship was one of the most powerful forces there was. Its use, spread over a long period, often left its surroundings permanently changed.
The most interesting thing about this phenomenon was that humans could often sense its presence. It was why there were so many ghosthunter shows. And why people often thought they could feel God’s presence when they entered those holy places.
What was more surprising was that Freemont Street seemed to have joined their ranks.
Then again, human greed was a powerful force.
Nathan tipped his head toward the door of a nondescript office building. “Shall we?”
Outside, Daylight’s soldiers were already disembarking. Doors opening and closing as they set up a perimeter that should have attracted attention from the pedestrians across the street.
No one spared us a glance. Either because the magic of Freemont Street had caught them in its grasp, leaving them no energy to notice anything else, or because there was a “Don’t look here” spell on the vehicles and the office building we’d parked next to.
“Sure,” I said, shoving open my door and climbing out.
Nathan did the same on the other side, his expression cooling as he looked around with a vigilance that was mirrored in the soldiers of Daylight.
Deborah squirmed her way out of the last row, stepping down from the SUV with a grace that would have been impossible for most others.
Once she was beside me, she smoothed out the back of her shorts and twitched the cuffs of her jacket into place before straightening with a look of such arrogance that she seemed like a totally different person. A more snobbish and contemptuous version of herself. A bored socialite dragged from her glimmering palace to muck about with all of us poor plebeians.
“I see we’re channeling our inner companion today,” I observed.
Deborah smoothed her hair out of her face, giving it a little flick at the end. “One must keep up appearances even when there is no one watching.”
